


Diamond Hearts Don’t Break

by Reia (R314)



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, F/M, Porn With Plot, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R314/pseuds/Reia
Summary: Times are hard, but women are easy. Too easy? Two grifters set their sights on the ultimate marks to end their successful run with a bang. But, surprise: these women didn’t get to the top by accident. Have Vegeta and Goku finally met their match? Vegebul / Gochi Modern AU





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted an excuse to write something ridiculously filthy and filled with silly innuendo. Hope you enjoy.

**Prologue**

_._

_._

_._

_You got me so high_

_Pull me closer into you and watch our bodies intertwine_

_I feel so alive_

_You know what I’m thinking of_

_Got me dreaming of that sexy dirty love_

 

_\- Demi Lovato, Sexy Dirty Love_

 

_._

_._

_._

Bulma Briefs froze for a second, stunned by the flash that burned her retinas.

 

“Bulma Briefs, Bulma Briefs, over here! Whassup, B? How was dinner? Are you seeing anyone?!”

 

Bulma scowled at the overtly familiar way the paparazzo addressed her as she hastily tried to make the journey from the restaurant to her car, trying to keep her head down and her mouth shut.

 

“And Chi-Chi! Chi-Chi, you look _hot_ , come give us a smile. _Aw_ , beautiful, beautiful.”

 

_Flash! Flash! Flash!_

 

Bulma barely stemmed an eye-roll. Her best friend Chi-Chi Mau clearly had the opposite approach to paparazzi — the “kill ‘em with kindness” approach — but that wasn’t Bulma. She was two seconds away from a lawsuit for aggravated assault with how she wanted to trash their cameras.

 

“All right? Was that enough to pay for your kid’s college?” she heard Chi-Chi say close behind her.

 

“Thank you, princess,” the slimy man in the ball cap said, making smoochy sounds.

 

“Bye, Daiz. Have a good night,” Chi-Chi went on.

 

 _Daiz_ _?_ Jesus, Chi-Chi even knew that gross dude’s _name?_

 

“All right, that’s enough,” Yamcha Bandito, Bulma’s bodyguard, snapped. He placed himself as a physical barrier for them to get into their car easily. Moments later, he rounded to the front to take the driver’s seat.

 

“You know that just _encourages_ them,” Bulma groused when they were safely on the road.

 

“They’re going to come regardless. Nice or not nice,” Chi-Chi told her calmly, as she took out her compact and dabbed her nose briefly. “But shall I remind you which one us had topless photos leaked online — and we were on the same beach.”

 

“Because _you_ were the leak,” Bulma joked dryly.

 

“We both know I have the better rack. It’d be a public service to leak my own,” Chi-Chi teased, but looked at Bulma with a little bit of exasperation. “You know if you weren’t growling at them all the time, they might actually decide to publish a nice photo of you.”

 

Bulma snorted. She didn’t give two shits. In fact, she was _glad_ the most unflattering angles were published. There was one she counted at least _three_ chins and it delighted her. The less appealing she was to the general public, the more they would leave her alone.

 

She didn’t choose to be the daughter of the richest man in the world or the child of a former supermodel.

 

But that potent combination, along with her own personal accomplishments made her a media darling. And as she grew into her looks, comparisons to her mother were inevitable.

 

It was exacerbated by the fact that Bulma knew how to have a good time — as if dancing on a table during a friend’s birthday negated her doctorate or somehow cancelled out her understanding of engineering concepts. As time went on, she purposely grew more outrageous — the lower the cleavage, the tighter the dress, the better — as a “fuck you” to those who wanted to put her in a neat little (read: controllable) box.

 

She _wanted_ people to underestimate her. Much easier to crush enemies under 4-inch Louboutins.

 

Chi-Chi thought she was a wee dramatic about it, but Bulma knew that the mature younger woman had similar misgivings. As the head of the commercial kitchen sector of Ox King Enterprises, a major manufacturing giant, Chi-Chi was also unfairly dismissed because of fame and beauty. She was only a _child_ when her father used her as the face of the company, but Bulma supposed that was why Chi-Chi was so great with the media.

 

She’d had more practice.

 

“So, is this club any fun?” Bulma sighed finally.

 

Chi-Chi flicked a careless shoulder.

 

“I don’t know. Papa told me I should make an appearance. They outfitted their entire kitchen with Ox King,” Chi-Chi said. That was the first time Bulma heard that this night out was related to work. She and her best friend really were two peas in a pod.

 

“All work and no play makes Chi-Chi a dull girl,” Bulma said with a finger wag.

 

The raven-haired girl lifted a carefully groomed brow. “Why not both?”

 

.

.

.

 

 

Truth be told, Goku Son wasn’t a fan of clubs. It was too loud, too dark, too… well, too _everything_. It gave him a headache, sometimes. His idea of heaven was idling by a mountain lake, fishing, with a naked woman waiting for him in a remote cabin, ready to cook his catch.

 

Peace, quiet, a warm meal and a warm body.

 

He was a man of simple tastes.

 

Unfortunately, wealthy women didn’t seem to share his fantasy. Rich ladies were _delicate_ and they barely could handle the reality of _sweat_ during sex. Good thing he had excellent cardio. It would take a marathon for his skin to get slick. He barely got flushed except where it mattered, he supposed.

 

He idly scratched his neck. It didn’t miss his notice a couple women watch his innocent gesture, their eyes following as he fingered his collar.

 

Well, there was _one_ reason going to a club was a good idea.

 

It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

 

“Only middle class girls tonight,” Goku lamented as he leaned back against the bar. He didn’t need to turn to his companion for him to know the statement was directed at him. Vegeta Breigh — his business partner? How would one define what they did? — grunted in response, sipping his whiskey meditatively.

 

“9 o’clock. Take a better look,” he said evenly, still not turning.

 

Goku’s brows furrowed slightly as he surreptitiously glanced to his left. A short-haired brunette in a simple, slightly sparkly shift dress was in his view. She was pretty polished enough, Goku thought, but there wasn’t anything he—

 

“The _Michele_ ,” Goku said finally, as the light caught a hint of a rose gold watch when she lifted her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

 

“Remember, old money is never ostentatious. Slumming means she needs to keep her wealth on the down low. But, they never can resist,” Vegeta went on, taking another meditative sip. “They can’t help but show off, no matter what.”

 

Goku laughed lightly and shook his head. “God, Vegeta. How you know these things...”

 

“It gets us paid, idiot.”

 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Goku said, rubbing his jaw contemplatively as he eyed the girl with new eyes. “She’s kinda cute, it wouldn’t be much of a sacrifice.”

 

Vegeta snorted beside him.

 

“Not sure if you wanted _me_ to or if—”

 

“She’s all yours. I know you have a thing for brunettes,” Vegeta said dismissively.

 

In the entire year they worked together, Goku had seen Vegeta be with every type of woman: tall, short, fat, thin, blonde, brunette, red-head. Old, young. Every ethnicity. They could be curvy or flat. Incredibly beautiful or… not so genetically blessed.

 

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason.

 

“Do _you_ even have a type?” Goku asked half-seriously.

 

Vegeta downed the rest of his whiskey, slamming his empty glass on the counter.

 

“Filthy rich,” Vegeta replied.

 

.

.

.

 

One perk of the rich and famous that Chi-Chi didn’t really mind were the private entrances. It wasn’t because she felt _special;_ she was more grateful for not having to queue in her towering heels. Bulma walked in hers like they were an extension of her body, but Chi-Chi hardly pulled them out unless out with Bulma. She was more the loafer and sneaker type.

 

Also, it tickled her a little that since she was _sort of_ here in business, she’d gotten the chef and sommelier tour. She had a _little_ bit of a thing for chefs. Tattoos, hard work ethic, and good food — what wasn’t there to like?

 

Unfortunately, no one seemed to like her _back_.

 

They were either too intimidated because of her name and fame or because they had weird preconceptions on who she was.

 

She was a walking Notting Hill cliché.

 

It made for a really, really dry sex life.

 

Really dry.

 

She was groped by a boyfriend once.

 

Whee?

 

It was really annoying because it wasn’t for lack of _trying_. She knew she was _pretty_ enough, but was she _boring?_ Or simply unsexy? Maybe it was because she wasn’t as demure and cute as they expected (like her Princess Chi-Chi persona from her childhood) nor was she was some kinky sexpot.

 

She was simply “Chi-Chi.”

 

She’d only had a handful of boyfriends, but she ended the relationship when it was clear they were only with her for her money or influence. It was made especially clear when they found out she wasn’t about to put out unless it was a _serious_ relationship.

 

Strangely, the more _interesting_ guys eventually became intimidated by her after a while. Like they couldn’t handle a more successful woman on their arm.

 

She angled a look at Bulma. The poor thing hadn’t had sex since her ill-thought affair with her bodyguard, which was _months_ ago. Yamcha was really nice to look at, even with that scar he got when he was a police officer. He had that nice mix of danger, strength and kindness, so Chi-Chi got the appeal, got why Bulma jumped on that.

 

But Bulma was _Bulma_. She was a handful at the _best_ of times.

 

But, still, it wasn’t a good idea to mix business and pleasure. Chi-Chi half-suspected that Bulma kept him employed because she needed a _safe_ guy to bone when the itch needed scratching, without having to go through a messy background check. It really was a drag on your love life to be this incredibly rich and famous.

 

It killed all spontaneity.

 

It killed romance.

 

Chi-Chi Mau was convinced she was going to die a virgin.

 

.

.

.

 

To be perfectly honest, Vegeta was _glad_ there weren’t any new marks that evening for him to work on. Even though funds were getting low again, going through the routine of having to charm someone he could barely tolerate was taxing.

 

He hated talking to people he _liked_ on a regular basis.

 

But, Vegeta was nothing but a hard worker. He did what he had to do to survive. He always had. And considering the other options involved violence and more serious crime, screwing a willing woman and conning them out of their money was preferable.

 

Still, it was tiresome. It was never meant to be forever, but maybe it was time to think of an exit strategy? Kakarot, who’d been enthusiastic enough at the start, had been lackadaisical of late. Vegeta almost forgot that the idea of what they did had scandalized the taller man once upon a time; he’d wished to marry and have a parcel of kids like some primetime TV special.

 

Of course, Vegeta quickly popped that fantasy for Kakarot. The _reality_ of their situation was that they were practically homeless, being illegal aliens and unofficial refugees from a war that the world all but ignored. They were unable to get jobs without incredibly difficult documents — falsified or legitimate — and even the “easy” way of paying someone to marry them temporarily would be difficult in the current political climate, where every application was combed through more critically.

 

Added to the fact that they were _clearly_ not from Chikyuu, it made it difficult to blend in — especially Kakarot who had only _recently_ really become more fluent in English. A year ago, Vegeta had to stop himself from killing the taller man in frustration as he helped tutor him in his language studies. Though, Vegeta supposed he had taken his multilingual upbringing for granted growing up royal.

 

He had taken a lot of things for granted.

 

Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Vegeta thought into his glass.

 

His heritage was just a blip in an endless news cycle of tragedy that people had long dismissed. His former glory, his work, his _lineage,_ all just a laughable footnote of history.

 

It had been chance that the two of them, one desperate evening after they’d been thrown out of the men’s shelter — granted, he’d started a fight with someone who had given him attitude — had run into a kind man named Gohan Son… he’d taken pity on them, gave them food and a place to stay for a little while. Kakarrot had cottoned to the man like his kin.

 

And after a couple days, Gohan Son introduced them to Master Roshi who’d taken one look at their striking appearances, and the rest was history…

 

A small cheer caused Vegeta to lift his head to see what the commotion was about. The dancing masses seemed to have congregated around someone, jumping and whooping. A rush of waiters and waitresses suddenly appeared at the bar.

 

“What’s going on?” Vegeta asked, grabbing a wayward waiter.

 

“Bulma Briefs made a surprise appearance!” the man sounded incredibly flustered and breathless. “She just promised everyone a round of drinks on her.”

 

His brows drew together swiftly. The name sounded familiar. Was she a starlet of some sort? He swallowed a slightly disappointed sigh. He'd been looking forward to having a quiet night in and let Kakarrot for _once_ do all the hard work with Ms. _Michele_ Watch, but the reality of their financial situation wasn’t something to ignore.

 

He placed a twenty in the man’s hand as thanks for the information, and patted him on the back as the waiter left.

 

Vegeta pushed off the bar and ignored the interested looks from women in his periphery. After a moment’s contemplation, he undid another button from the top of his dress shirt.

 

Time to work.

 

.

.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash. XD


	2. Exit Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of setup before we get to the sexy parts.

“Hey, keep it down.”

 

Vegeta jerked back, slightly startled since it was almost 4 am and he didn’t expect to be greeted at the door. It was only a shirtless Kakarrot exiting from his room, currently pulling up his boxers with one hand, while the other hand had a finger to his lips. He then gestured behind him and pantomimed sleeping.

 

Vegeta pressed his lips together and flicked a brief glance over Kakarrot’s shoulder. When he left the club, Ms. _Michele_ Watch was still _clearly_ there, which pissed him off. Sometimes he thought Kakarrot didn’t understand how serious their situation was, but maybe he’d been wrong?

 

He’d turned it around and closed the deal?

 

“You have her phone?” Vegeta asked, already opening his palm as Kakarrot approached him in the kitchen. He had software that scanned smartphones for any and all logins related to financial information. Their _main_ scam was siphoning off undetectable amounts of money from multiple rich women’s accounts, with a dash of credit card fraud and luxury goods fencing.

 

Instead of answering, Kakarrot pointed to his chest. He seemed _incredibly_ amused.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Hm, what?” Vegeta looked down at his shirt. To his horror, in his _haste_ to leave, he had barely buttoned his shirt on properly and _the woman’s_ blue lace panties were hanging out of his chest pocket. Heat rushed to his face as he grabbed the offending underwear to hide it in his pants pocket.

  
_That damn woman…_

 

“You found a mark! _Awesome!_ ” Kakarrot exclaimed quietly, raising his hand for a high-five. Vegeta couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge it. They weren’t _buddies_.

 

They were barely colleagues.

 

But, he grudgingly admitted, they were all each other had.

 

He swept into the kitchen with Kakarrot in tow.

 

“ _Come on_ , it’s great news. We’ve kinda had a bad luck streak. We can keep this place for another month, then, right?” Kakarrot went on, finally dropping his hand.

 

“ _Your_ mark should be able to cover that,” Vegeta said warily, narrowing his eyes.

 

Kakarrot’s expression faltered.

 

And there it was. _Of course._

 

“You took home a Reg,” Vegeta said flatly. It wasn’t a question.

 

“Reg” was their nickname for a “Regular Person.”

 

“I needed a reset,” Kakarrot blurted out and Vegeta was _thisclose_ to punching the wide-eyed, apologetic look on his face. The only thing stopping him was that Kakarrot’s stupid, fucking _face_ sometimes paid the bills, when he actually tried to use it properly.

 

Women seemed to _flock_ to his goofy ass.

 

Vegeta didn’t get it.

 

“And she’s really nice,” he added, as if _not paying the bills_ somehow made it okay.

 

Vegeta felt a headache coming on.

 

“The only reason you’re not being murdered right now is because, once _again_ , I’m going to fix our situation,” he said sharply.

 

“Lacey to save the day,” Kakarrot said with a wide grin, and actually clapped like a child. Moments like this, Vegeta wondered if he would have been better off being the _lone_ survivor of his race.

 

“What the fuck.”

 

“ _Lacey_. The panties.”

 

Vegeta counted to ten. “Stop talking.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Vegeta pulled out his laptop from the alcove in the kitchen, pulled up a stool and opened up a browser.

 

“When I’m done with Bulma Briefs, we won’t have to worry about anything any more,” Vegeta remarked as he typed in her name into Google. He noticed Kakarrot grow very very still.

 

“You’re joking,” Kakarrot said flatly.

 

“You’ve heard of her?” Vegeta frowned. Why had she escaped his notice? He had made a list of all known socialites of West City and hadn’t run into her name. Well, her name teased his consciousness a little, so she must be known somewhere…

 

“Vegeta, she’s pretty much the richest woman in the world.”

 

His frown deepened. It wasn’t as much the information that bothered him — Kakarrot must be exaggerating… how could she be the _richest_ in the _world?! —_ but that _it escaped his notice_. And what made it worse, was that _Kakarrot_ of all people seemed to be “in the know.”

 

It was borderline insulting. Vegeta pushed down his slight unease and shook his head. That’s what Phase 1 was for. Intel gathering.

 

“Whatever. Bulma Briefs is the next long con, and _you’re_ going to help me” Vegeta said, typing furiously into his browser. There were a slew of links with her name. Unsurprisingly, a lot from ZMZ with headlines such as “CC Heiress and Her Wild Night” and pictures of her in various states of undress (that was the only way to describe those “clothes”). She also made the _strangest_ faces…

 

“It’s not going to happen!” Kakarrot exclaimed, slicing the air with his palm.

 

Vegeta bristled. What the _hell_ was wrong with him? Kakarrot had never once argued with him like this before.

 

“Have I ever pushed a mark that I thought wouldn’t be a sure thing?” Vegeta asked.

 

Vegeta was _very_ careful at choosing who they worked on. And sometimes, it didn’t pan out. Half of this entire process was strategy, but the other half was luck. That was life. It was unfortunate, but many of their recent leads ended at Phase 1: Intel. Vegeta always ended a mission before a situation grew out of control.

 

It, did, however, put a damper on their cash flow… which was why they had decided to do a club run. Club runs were never meant to be majorly lucrative; it was simply an option for a quick buck, to stem the bleeding until they found their next, more lucrative, long target.

 

Kakarrot shook his head as Vegeta’s brows rose expectantly.

 

“No, but—”

 

“And would I _ever_ knowingly put us in any danger?”

 

“ _Of course not_ , but—”

 

“And who has a pair of Bulma Briefs’ panties in his pocket right now?”

 

Kakarrot looked toward his lap and back up at his eyes in shock.

 

“ _Lacey_ is Bulma Briefs?”

 

_Breathe,_ Vegeta told himself, unable to understand how someone could be so damn dense. _He’s but a simple farm boy…the last of your kind. Don’t kill him._

 

Kakarrot blinked as Vegeta stared at him stone-faced.

 

“Okay, wow. In a club pick up, too. I’m kind of… yeah, impressive,” Kakarrot allowed, his mouth twitching.

 

Vegeta tried to swallow an answering smile and worked his jaw. It wouldn’t do for Kakarrot to see him smile back.

 

_Of course_ it was impressive.

 

“Got rid of her bodyguard and everything,” he said casually, clicking on a few random links. _Surprise_ , a nude picture scandal…

 

“I don’t know, Vegeta...” Kakarrot still sounded quite wary. “You’re really good at this, but we’ve been having this weird streak of bad luck lately. Maybe this is too much right now. I’m worried.”

 

“Well, if you’re going to be like that, then I’ll just deal with this alone.”

 

“That’s not what I mean, of course I’ll help you. Something like this… I really _really_ don’t think it’s smart to do alone,” Kakarrot said. There was something in his tone that made Vegeta look up from his computer screen. The normally happy-go-lucky man had a line between his brows that he’d rarely seen.

 

He was _genuinely_ worried.

 

And Vegeta was smart enough to know when it was time to listen. So he closed his laptop cover, crossed his arms and regarded the man silently.

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Vegeta. I mean… I think maybe when… before things went to shit,” Kakarrot amended, and he knew immediately he was referencing The War. “When you and your family… and you had the freaking castle and all. I think _maybe_.”

 

Vegeta shook his head, trying to decipher Kakarrot’s babbling. “You mean when I was still a prince?”

 

“You’re still _totally_ a prince,” Kakarrot said hastily, lifting his hands.

 

“Yes, with my one, stupid subject,” Vegeta allowed, ignoring the lancing pain that sliced through him. It was easier to be flippant about it. But Kakarrot’s expression was so damn earnest, and it reminded him why he tolerated the guy so much. He was utterly loyal. Nearly died defending him and his family.

 

“Look. I don’t know how you haven’t heard of Bulma Briefs, but she’s like at that level, you know? She’s definitely _richer_. Jesus, Vegeta, how could you not know?”

 

_A_ _aaaan_ _d_ his tolerance level just went down again. Vegeta clenched his jaw.

 

“I don’t know. I don’t watch ZMZ as much because I try to focus on _high-quality_ leads. She must have slipped through my filters for some reason or other.”

 

Vegeta already knew partially why. The woman was a fucking nut. He tried to filter out _crazy_ quickly.

 

“I mean you’re _good_ , but I don’t know if you’re bag Bulma Briefs good.”

 

The line between his brows deepened. He’d never heard Kakarrot so unconfident in his abilities.

 

“You mentioned a bodyguard? Getting rid of him for one night, sure. But _weeks?”_ Kakarrot shook his head. _“_ Or however long you think this’ll take.”

 

“Maybe three months,” Vegeta said if their normal average was any indication. “Since you think she’s such a big deal, maybe another month or two.”

 

“Serious? That’s nearly half a year, Vegeta!” Goku’s voice had risen slightly before he ducked his head. He glanced back at the bedroom hall and lowered his tone. “I mean we’re not in a _great_ position right now, but we’re making do. If this goes sideways, that’s a giant chunk of time and money we might not be able to recover from.”

 

Vegeta knew it was a high risk situation and she was definitely not the kind he normally went for. So it was a risk in that area as well. He’d focused on _classy_ women as much possible, the type who would never cause much fuss. It was also insurance for what they were doing — less likely to be upset when he ended things, behaving in a more dignified manner.

 

He had no motivation to deal with overtly emotional women.

 

While he’d told Kakarrot earlier the only “type” he had was filthy rich, he did _sort of_ lean toward those who would have been appropriate for him to date back when he had a title, like Kakarrot mentioned. He didn’t really care about the _looks_ part as much as their net worth and their level of dignity.

 

The definition of “classy” did change depending on their cash flow… but Bulma Briefs was nowhere near that term. It was strange of Kakarrot to lump her in the same category as “his level.” Or his previous level. Whatever.

 

Still, Vegeta _never_ went for something he wasn’t confident he could pull off. He could have had more women, but was picky to ensure success. He knew it was a long commitment and he definitely didn’t like to waste his time.

 

But as he thought back to the last few hours and the scrap of fabric that was practically taunting him in his pocket… he was confident he could win over Bulma Briefs.

 

“It’s time to think of our exit strategy. She’s _it_ ,” Vegeta said bluntly, laying all the cards on the table. “We’ve been spinning our wheels these past couple of months. You call it bad luck, I see it as a sign that _who_ we’ve been targeting and _how_ we’ve been going about it needs to _change_.”

 

Kakarrot lowered his eyes to the floor, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry I haven’t been pulling my weight. I just… you’re right. I’m getting tired of this.”

 

Vegeta closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience. Sometimes Kakarrot's stupid "aw, shucks" demeanor made him want to throttle him, but considering how Vegeta could relate to his last statement gave him some leeway.

 

“What’s done is done. Unless your Reg is magically a secret millionaire who’s willing to keep you as her toy boy, then I’m out of ideas.”

 

Kakarrot continued to stay silent.

 

“If you _have_ any alternatives to what we’re already doing and who we’re already targeting, please share, because to be frank, you’re not the only one tired of _fucking around,_ ” Vegeta said.

 

He just did what he had to do. It didn’t mean he liked it or enjoyed it.

 

He was sure he could never again enjoy sex like a normal human being. He got off more on the _process_ and getting away with it all than anything else.

 

Vegeta spread his arms wide to let Kakarrot have the stage and say his piece.

 

Kakarrot sighed and shrugged.

 

That’s what Vegeta thought.

 

“What happens if this all goes to shit?” Kakarrot asked finally. Vegeta gave a quiet, mirthless laugh.

 

“It won’t,” Vegeta insisted. “We’re going to plan this out more than we’ve _ever_ done with any other mark. Besides, we survived genocide, crossing a border illegally, and being homeless in a strange land while you barely knew the language. We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

 

Kakarrot responded with his own small, dark laugh. “Well, when you put it _that_ way…”

 

Vegeta could see Kakarrot’s resolve waffle. Vegeta leaned forward and gestured to the bedroom door behind him.

 

“Think about this way: in less than half a year, you can move on with your life! You’ll be able to be with _whoever_ you want and take any random slut home, like tonight—”

 

Vegeta wasn’t prepared for Kakarrot grabbing his shirt in his fist.

 

“Don’t speak about her like that. Chi-Chi’s not like that,” Kakarrot snarled.

 

Oh, my god, Vegeta thought. The idiot had a _thing_ for this girl and she didn’t even have the decency to be rich.

 

“Get your fucking hands off me before I break all your fingers,” Vegeta said calmly.

 

Kakarrot had the gall to glare at him for a beat longer before releasing him.

 

“Sorry,” Kakarrot said curtly. “She’s a nice girl.”

 

Vegeta rolled his eyes. His vocabulary was woeful. Was “nice” the only way he could describe a woman? He adjusted his shirt.

 

“Fine, whatever. We’ve gotten off track here. The point is, you help me with this, you can probably _keep_ your nice girl. Probably not this one since I need you for the next few months, but you know what I mean. There’ll be another nice girl.”

 

Kakarrot’s gaze flickered.

 

“Are you with me?” Vegeta asked sharply. “Is your head on straight? Be honest.”

 

Kakarrot rubbed his face and was silent for a few beats. Finally:

 

“All right, okay. I’m in.”

 

Vegeta gave him a short nod. He knew that once Kakarrot gave his word, that he was solid and reliable. Kakarrot grated on his nerves, but Vegeta couldn’t imagine anyone else having his back.

 

“Okay. I’m going to stay up a bit. Go back to your ‘nice girl.’”

 

Kakarrot surprised him by smacking his back with his fist. He really needed to disabuse Kakarrot of the idea that they were “bros.”

 

“All right. But you _gotta_ tell me how you got Lacey’s panties.”

 

Vegeta bit the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning, to keep his expression impassive.

 

“A gentleman never tells.”

 

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... but I'm going to tell, because I'm no gentleman. Stay tuned for the next chapter. ;-)


	3. Bulma & Vegeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hummmmm... I am apparently incapable of writing a SHORT sexy chapter. This is a long one, lol. Filth filth filth

_Earlier…_

 

 

Vegeta casually joined the throng of people on the dance floor, who were doing a _semblance_ of dancing but were really mostly pawing at each other like wild animals. He found it rather distasteful, this socially accepted exhibitionism, but it made his job much easier. He wouldn’t have to set the mood, wouldn’t have to create excuses to touch anyone… women were already primed to fall into his lap.

  
He turned and the crowd parted just enough for him to catch a flicker of blue.

 

Eyes like the cerulean shore off the coast of Vegetasei stared back at him. They were sharper than he expected, set against a patrician face: high cheeks, delicate angles and a sharp nose, followed by ribbon-shaped lips that curved knowingly as his assessment of her went on.

 

He didn’t need to ask anyone to know that _this_ must be Bulma Briefs.

 

She had a strange shock of blue hair, wavy in a long bob, mixed in with her natural blonde. It was odd, but it strangely suited her coloring.

 

She was an exotic bird; a rare find in this jungle of writhing, basic masses.

 

And she knew it.

 

She wet her mouth, darting her tongue on her red upper lip as her grin widened, keeping his gaze.

 

She winked.

 

He already hated her.

 

They way she looked at him like a dog she could whistle to heel turned his stomach.

 

He narrowed his eyes in response, then turned and stalked away from the dance floor.

 

.

.

.

 

Bulma tried to push down the weird feeling that lingered after that pseudo-encounter she had. She’d noticed him immediately since he was the only one simply standing, creating a vacuum and near-spotlight on him. And how could one ignore a specimen like that once you took notice? All angles and shadows in the flickering lights of the club, he looked like a dark phantom come to haunt her.

 

He might as well have been: there one moment, and gone so quickly that she thought she’d almost imagined it. But there was nothing imagined about her fluttering pulse.

 

She was a little confused that he didn’t respond to her invitation. Maybe he didn’t catch her smile and wink?

 

Or… she wasn’t his type?

 

She shrugged as she continued to bob to the music. Where was Chi-Chi? She should be back at the dance floor by now… it didn’t take _that_ long to change into a waitress uniform, did it? Bulma grimaced at the memory of the earlier altercation with the jerk who threw his drink at her sweet friend for having the _gall_ to reject his advances.

 

There was a little bit of space around her since the unfortunate incident now. Yamcha, alongside the club security, had immediately thrown Chi-Chi’s harasser out and made it clear to anyone in the nearby vicinity that they were to be left _alone_.

 

Which meant Bulma was awkwardly dancing by herself, waiting for her best friend, while men and women flashed blatant and not-so-blatant curious looks her way.

 

One of whom had been her phantom.

 

She sipped at her drink and smiled privately as she thought about the weird non-encounter. She wouldn’t mind re-enacting a famous scene involving clay and a stool with her “ghost.”

 

Her thigh buzzed and she startled, before remembering her clutch hanging by her side. She fished out her phone and looked down:

 

 _Says he isn’t a serial killer. Name is Goku. Heading to the park._ — Chi-Chi

 

Bulma’s brows shot to her hairline as she saw the attached photo. It was some guy’s profile as he looked away. Classically good looking, Bulma thought. Her best friend had always been the more romantic type and this guy looked like he stepped out of a movie poster, so she was unsurprised that Chi-Chi would be drawn to him.

 

She _was_ surprised, though, that her friend had left suddenly with a man she just met! Chi-Chi wasn’t the impulsive type normally.

 

Bulma was actually a little envious.

 

She bit her lip as she typed a response: _Cute!!! Good for you._ She paused for a moment before quickly adding: _[eggplant emoji] Get it, girl._

 

She cackled to herself and looked up to share with Yamcha, only to find that he wasn’t where she expected him to be. She frowned and realized she was essentially abandoned by _all_ the people that she started with in the evening…! Did _Yamcha_ also find someone for the evening?

 

She technically didn’t even need his services that evening; she only wanted him around as a convenient (albeit expensive) designated driver.

 

… and a little bit to show him what he had given up.

  
While Bulma normally went against the grain for what was expected of her, she knew she’d devolved into a total cliché when she started an affair with her bodyguard. She wasn’t immune to the loneliness and paranoia of being one of the richest people in the world and Yamcha was… well, he was kind and handsome and… _there._

 

She wasn’t in _love_ with him — as a scientist and pragmatist, she didn’t really believe in the concept the way Chi-Chi and other people did — but she cared about him still and it hurt to be rejected. Chi-Chi thought she’d been the one who ended things, but Yamcha had gently told her months ago that he couldn’t see a future together. She’d disagreed passionately at the time, but apparently, he also believed in the delusion of “love” and that while what they had was great and comfortable, he wanted to explore that for himself.

 

He offered to quit when they broke up, but she didn’t really want him to. He was good at his job and honestly, she had so few genuine friendships, she didn’t want to lose regular contact with the man. They had one of the weirdest relationships ever, she was sure. They didn’t sleep together any more but sometimes they would still hang out, just the two of them, and play board games or watch movies. They still texted each other on occasion.

 

She knew he was dating other women now, too, but sometimes she wondered if they were just on a “break” and would find their way back to each other eventually. A _When Harry Met Sally_ situation, maybe?

 

Bulma pursed her lips contemplatively. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to the stupid concept of romance after all. That, or she had watched way too many romantic movies in recent memory…

 

Realizing she was on the verge of becoming maudlin, she downed the rest of the drink in her hand and dropped the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray.

 

She found a group of dancing ladies and confidently walked into their circle, waving at them in a friendly manner. After they got over their initial shock that she was randomly joining their little party, they enthusiastically raised their glasses and thanked her for the free round.

 

Soon, she lost herself in the music and focused on fun.

 

She was _motherfucking_ Bulma Briefs, after all.

 

.

.

.

 

Even in a club run, Vegeta was sure to do mild intel on his target. Goku thought that was excessive, preferring to lumber into a situation through the sheer force of his charm and get to know a woman then and there. Vegeta preferred to always be in complete control and that was only possible when he viewed every angle he could approach, assess and then execute as efficiently as possible.

 

He didn’t like to waste time the way Goku did. Too much conversation. Sometimes Vegeta made it into a game: how could he get a girl flat on her back with the least amount of words possible? Beyond efficiency, the less words exchanged, the less likely to misspeak.

 

Not that Vegeta ever would, anyway.

 

Which was why Vegeta circled the club after he identified Bulma Briefs to see what her deal was. Was she alone? Did she bring a friend with her? A _group_ of friends? Was there a purpose to her visit today: a birthday party, perhaps, or was she simply wanting a night out in a new club… to stamp her mark on it before the place became well-known and blew up?

 

He noticed a man near the exits that wasn’t wearing the same uniform the rest of the club security wore, and yet he seemed to be scanning the area _like_ security. And specifically, trained at the blue-haired witch in the middle of the dance floor. The scar-faced man scratched his side idly, but it was enough for Vegeta to see a firearm in a concealed sling when he brushed against his jacket.

 

Bodyguard.

 

Hm.

 

That meant _money_. A lot of it, he mused.

 

But it put a damper on his plans. He had to figure out how to get rid of this man.

 

He wandered around some more, carefully scanning the crowd for more information. She was flitting crowd to crowd, like some fluttering dignitary who had to grace everyone with her presence. They loved her, though, based on their reactions. She basked in their attention and it was clear to Vegeta that this woman _definitely_ enjoyed having the spotlight.

 

She liked to put on a show.

 

She didn’t seem to have any other companions for the evening if her random exploration of the dance floor was any indication. Interestingly, he noticed that she’d been nursing the same drink for the past five minutes: she wasn’t drunk or looking to get drunk. All her enthusiasm was _purely_ her — no liquid courage needed.

 

Confident.

 

Very.

 

All right, Vegeta though with a small sigh. He had enough information to work with. He wasn’t excited in the least to have her as a target, but he already had a plan in mind to get her onside. It was just one night after all.

 

But, first things first: get rid of the bodyguard. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the armed man also eyeing a buxom blonde on the dance floor with mild interest.

 

Bingo.

 

.

.

.

 

After a bit of dancing and chatting, Bulma’s mood had lifted considerably. It was _nice_ being single and carefree! Who needed _a_ man when you could have _several_ to dance with all on the same night? She saw Yamcha for maybe two seconds and waved at him before casting him out of her mind for the rest of the evening.

 

A rhythmic clapping started to filter through the dance speakers. She whooped in delight. It was an upbeat reggaeton ditty with a hint of club vibe, one that would allow her to really move beyond just wiggle and jump around.

 

At a particularly swelling moment of the song, Bulma whirled around, lost in the sound, and slammed into something solid. Her hands reflexively went up to balance herself and found her fingers gaining purchase against a well-muscled chest.

 

“Ah, sor—” she giggled but the laughter faded when she lifted her eyes.

 

It was her phantom.

 

Holy _hell_ , he was even more hot up close. He had a dark, masculine beauty that positively radiated from him; a beauty she couldn’t ignore due to their proximity. His chin lifted when their gazes met, almost challengingly, which gave her a great view of the column of his throat, that opened up to a beautiful swath of skin exposed by a shirt that barely contained the expanse of his muscled chest.

 

He wasn’t a phantom, she thought deliriously.

 

He was the devil.

 

For once in Bulma’s life, she found herself robbed of wit.

 

When he silently grasped her hand, she realized she was still clawing at the shirt on his chest. Dear god, she’d practically _thrown_ herself at him. Her face flamed as she tried to politely step back and apologize, but instead of letting her hand go, he adjusted their position and flicked at her waist with his free hand the way a dance partner would.

 

She twirled and found herself being dragged against his length _on beat_.

 

Whew. _Okay,_ _now._

 

Her blood raced as his kept eye contact, never breaking to check their steps. Up close, the arresting angles of his face was all the more striking. Their earlier, brief eye contact hadn’t prepared her for this…. whatever this was.

 

They continued to move in sync, his gaze growing heated as the song went on. They swayed in time, one of his hands on the small of her back, the other holding hers surely as she moved her hips to the music. His knee was between her legs, leading her to ride his leg suggestively.

 

The song’s beat intensified and Bulma thought it was time to see whether he could actually handle—

 

Before she knew it, his hand lowered, as if reading her thoughts. She arched low, nearly bending to reach the ground while one hand kept her steady. The other led in her in half circle, before he pulled her back up, her hair flipping toward him.

 

She grinned, exhilarated. She barely noticed the crowd slowly backing away to give them room.

 

She flicked her leg around his and he moved back to allow her room to move around and whip her head around as she twirled suggestively, until he pulled her back against his front.

 

His hands trailed down the sides of her body. His breath fluttered on the sides of her face as they moved, and if they moved closer together, they would be fused. Bulma had to stem a shudder. She was undeniably aroused by being led on the dance floor like this. She enjoyed his intense scrutiny and surety of movement — it had been a while since she’d been with a man who _knew_ how to move.

 

How _else_ did he know how to move?

 

She wiggled and bent over suggestively, twerking briefly, before whipping back up and writhing against his torso and brushing against his groin with her ass. Oh, _hello_ , there.

 

She could hear the crowd clapping, shouting and whistling, but from how Bulma felt, it could have just been the two them.

 

She grabbed the hands on her hips, and drew them up the sides of her waists, then her breasts — briefly, just to give him a taste — before she drew them back down the tops of her bare thighs.

 

He jerked back and whirled her back around to face him, immediately putting them back into dance formation. She winked up at him saucily. Did she push him too far?

 

He was breathing a little more heavily than at the start of their dance, and she was pleased to see the flush rushing across his cheeks. She leaned forward, just a hair’s breadth away from his lips before she pulled back and he let her, dipping her to the song.

 

Bulma felt her disappointment rise as the song neared its eventual conclusion. As the crescendo neared, he twirled her one last time then grabbed her knee and lifted it to his waist as the last beat rang out.

 

The crowd roared their appreciation, applauding at their display.

 

They stayed in that suggestive position for who knew how long… All Bulma knew was that she wanted to take this man home to ride him until they destroyed the bed frame. Eventually, he slowly lowered her leg, his fingers dragging down her exposed skin.

 

His arms dropped away as he stepped back.

 

Then he did the oddest, but simultaneously sweetest thing… considering they practically simulated sex on the dance floor. With his eyes trained on her, he lifted his right hand and placed it over his heart, while the other hand went to his back.

 

Then he bowed.

 

Actually _bowed_.

 

Too startled, she clumsily curtsied back — what did one do after a display like that? — and she thought she saw his mouth twitch in reaction. She felt strangely elated by that… his expression had been otherwise unreadable and stoic.

 

She reached out to him to ask for his name, but before she could, he turned around.

 

And walked away.

 

.

.

.

 

 _Vulgar woman,_ Vegeta thought as he tried to get his heart back to a normal rhythm.

 

The _only_ reason he was still catching his breath was because he’d just danced intensely for about five minutes _not_ because she affected him whatsoever. She was silly and utterly inappropriate in every way!

 

She practically led his hands under her dress in front of _the whole damn crowd_. While the dance was meant to be sensual, she’d kicked it up to incredibly obscene levels with the way she writhed against him like a cat in heat and pushed her bottom against his groin, which twitched due to _purely_ biological reasons.

 

He had set up the dance to accelerate the evening’s plans. He’d concluded that for an exhibitionist, she would respond well to a little pomp and circumstance, and he didn’t mind pulling out years of formal dance training to his advantage.

 

But the man was _supposed_ to lead. _He_ was supposed to dictate terms. Instead, she was wild in his arms — if he wasn’t so well-trained and in tune with her body, he could have dropped her every time she decided to change the course of the movement so she could add some extra dramatic flair, to flaunt those lush curves of hers, barely contained in the metallic number she wore.

 

When he felt a hand on his shoulder as he entered the lounge seating area, he was a little surprised because he hadn’t expected her to approach him so soon. He _did_ , but further in the night, when they’d both caught their breath. But there she was, all blue fire and heaving bosom, demanding attention.

 

Getting it.

 

He raised his brows and kept his face impassive, waiting.

 

She seemed flustered at his non-reaction to her aggressive grab.

 

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she blurted out.

 

He stared at her for a beat. “Neither did you.”

 

She laughed at that. “You’re joking.”

 

He waited. Arrogant woman.

 

“Bulma,” she said finally. As he continued to stare at her, she shifted in her heels. “ _Briefs_.”

 

He reached out a hand and she looked down at it in disbelief for a moment, before she shrugged and went to give him a rather assertive handshake. But as the last minute, he caressed her knuckles with his thumb, and shook it the way they did back in Vegetasei — upper left, down, then up right, a V-formation, and then toward his lips. It was normally reserved for meeting dignitaries.

 

He knew it was unusual, but women seemed to enjoy the spectacle of it. It also gave him an excuse to preview his mouth on her skin, already start her mind moving that direction.

 

From the way Bulma’s lashes fluttered and her lips parted, it worked.

 

He supposed his aristocratic training still had _some_ use.

 

“Vegeta.”

 

He knew it made her feel disconcerted that he didn’t offer his last name.

 

_Good._

 

“That’s an unusual name,” she remarked, recovering quickly and not commenting on his blatant omission.

 

“So is yours.”

 

“I like unusual,” she purred, her lips curving again the same way it did when their eyes first caught.  


 

“Mm,” he said noncommittally. He made a show at looking at this watch. It was a vintage _Chopard_ , a crazy lucky find from a consignment store, but anyone with money would recognize it immediately and align themselves with it. It was a trust marker, immediately putting a rich woman at ease: _You’re like me._

 

“Thank you for the dance, but I must run because I need to pack before my early flight,” he said brusquely, his hand going up to his shirt to close the button that he had purposely undone earlier. As expected, her eyes went to his throat, and lingered.

 

It was an easy enough lie to say; an easy excuse for one-night stands and quick scams.

 

“I apologize if I’ve been curt,” he went on politely. “I really have been lingering longer than necessary.”

 

He raked his gaze up across her face and allowed a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I blame you.”

 

He didn’t wait for her response before he grazed his knuckles on her cheek as a “good-bye” — women loved the cheek caress — then turned to walk away.

 

He had to give it to her. He was almost out the door and worried that he’d overestimated her interest, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. She looked breathlessly up at him, flushed. She wet her lips and walked her fingers up his arm playfully.

 

“Do you need… help _packing?_ ” she asked archly.

 

He lifted his brows ever so slightly, then raked his gaze from the tops of her outrageous hair to the bottom of her stiletto heels.

 

“This is unexpected,” he said.

 

She leaned over and brushed her lips against his earlobe. Her breath was hot and sweet.

 

“No, it isn’t. I’m wet just thinking about your hands on me. Don’t you want to check and see for yourself?”

 

He jerked and couldn’t help gape at her in surprise. That was _his_ move — he was supposed to be the one making suggestive remarks… eventually, _in time_ … but she clearly was impatient, skipping around, again, not unlike the dance.

 

She didn’t follow the rules.

 

She wanted to lead this dance.

 

If she was half as wild in bed as she was on the dance floor, perhaps this night could be mildly amusing…

 

.

.

.

 

Despite what the public thought, Bulma wasn’t really promiscuous. She had all of _three_ lovers her entire life. Her first was her college TA when she was sixteen — he’d thought she was eighteen and ended it the moment he found out she was underage. She’d been so upset at the time, but realized that if it had gotten out, especially with her public profile, it could have been much worse.

 

It was the first time she’d realized she had to be careful with her affairs.

 

Zarbon had been a huge mistake…she thought dating in her “station” would be different. He’d been rich like her, so handsome, had said the right things, and had snaked his way into her bed. She once thought she loved him. It was only after a year of dating that she realized that he was a cheating slime bag and that he’d only wanted to be with her to climb up the ranks at Capsule Corp.

 

What made it worse was that he was also a _corporate spy_. Selling their secrets to the highest bidder!

 

Ever since then, Bulma vowed never to let her heart rule her head.

 

Yamcha happened when she was lonely, and he was there and safe and just _so goddamn nice_.

 

She still _dated_ a lot, though… but never had she followed a strange man to a strange hotel room, fibbing to Yamcha about a headache and catching a cab home — he seemed preoccupied with some blonde and she didn’t want to ruin _his_ fun.

 

There must be something in those drinks, Bulma thought nervously. Chi-Chi ran off with some guy, too. She wondered how _that_ was going… she quickly whipped out her phone and asked Chi-Chi to check in and let her know she was okay.

 

 _I think I’m going to have a story for you tomorrow, too_ [dance emoji] [water emoji] — Bulma

 

She bit her lip as the elevator in the hotel pinged, indicating they were at Vegeta’s floor and she hastily put her phone away. Vegeta was definitely interesting, she thought as he held his hand out to make sure the elevator door didn’t close on her and for her to move ahead of him.

 

He had _incredible_ manners.

 

It shouldn’t be a big deal, but he held himself a certain way, always up right, his chin up. He held doors open — not just at the elevator, but everywhere. And he almost always had his left hand at the small of his back, like he was going to walk into a grand ball, all decorum and perfect posture.

 

It was… strangely _alluring_. It was old-fashioned but kinda… sweet, almost.

 

He held himself like a prince.

 

Bulma bit back a giggle. Yep, she definitely had watched too many movies with Chi-Chi lately… that was the only explanation for her fanciful thoughts.

 

The reality of the situation was that she was about to bang a traveling business man — he vaguely said something about import-exports. And that suited Bulma just fine. It was almost _nice_ knowing nothing was expected beyond this evening.

 

It was also thrilling that this felt _normal_.

 

She was pleased to see that there had been _no_ paparazzi waiting for her when they slipped out of the club; almost as if they’d been dispatched with. The hotel was only a short walk away so they strolled out without a care, his hand on the small of her back as he led her down the street.

 

She nearly laughed at herself.

 

She was _happy_ she was going on a ho stroll like a _regular_ woman and wasn’t being bothered by anyone. What a life she led! she thought to herself in self-deprecating amusement. While she was grateful for the life and privileges she had, it was a rare treat to just be Bulma Briefs.

 

The moment the door to his hotel room opened, Bulma launched herself at him. She knew he’d been caught off-guard at her antics, practically kicking the door closed with her heels.

 

She’d never been a patient woman.

 

She was surprised, however, when he turned his cheek as she tried to capture his mouth. She caught the edge of his jaw instead. No matter, she thought fuzzily, as she nuzzled his throat and breathed him in. He smelled incredible, though a little _expensive_. Gucci? Hugo Boss? His very subtle cologne mixed with his own musk was a heady combination.

 

“We have all night,” he said and she could hear a little exasperation entering his tone as her hands wandered over him, pulling the dress shirt from the waistband of his tailored slacks. She giggled. Was she coming on too strong?

 

He was clearly unused to a woman taking initiative, judging from his flickering gaze.

 

Bulma shrugged internally. She could play demure for a little while. She was game.

 

“All right,” she purred, circling her hands behind his neck. “Let’s do it your way… for a little while.”

 

“Let me remind you you’re in _my_ room,” he said evenly, as he splayed his hands on her waist. “My room, _my_ rules.”

 

“I don’t do well with rules,” she said, nipping lightly at his chin.

 

“ _Behave_ ,” he said as one of his hands lowered and cupped her backside and squeezed. She shuddered lightly, loving how firm and sure his touch was. This was a man who knew what he wanted.

 

“Or what?” she challenged saucily. “Are you going to spank me?”

 

“No,” he said calmly, his hand drifting lower and under her dress. Her pulse jumped as his hot fingers trailed up her thighs and fingered the edges of her panties. “I might decide not to fuck you.”

 

She jerked slightly when his hand dipped under the lace and touched her experimentally. She bit back a moan, keeping his gaze. His face remained impassive as his fingers stroked her sex in a confident manner. She felt her gut tighten in anticipation and she knew she was wet already, just from this, from his eyes, his voice.

 

“Wouldn’t that be a shame?” he whispered. “You’re so ready for me, but you’ve been a bad girl. Don’t you know that good things come to those who wait?”

 

She leaned into his touch. This was the fastest any man had ever gotten between her thighs and she was elated, thrilled.

 

And then he was gone, taking a decided step back, never breaking his gaze as he crossed his arms and tilted his head. She whimpered a little at the loss of his touch. She reached out to him but he sharply shook his head.

 

“Are you going to behave?”

 

She bit her lip as a jolt of desire ran through her at his softly stated question.

 

“No,” she said just as softly.

 

His brows rose slightly.

 

“You didn’t take me here because you wanted someone _beneath_ you,” she said just as calmly as he. She moved forward, dragging her feet behind her like a dancer, as she dipped her hand at the apex of her legs, her breath hitching as she touched herself.

 

He blinked rapidly, clearly not anticipating her behavior, but he didn’t move away either when she drew herself up against him. She lifted her naughty hand, coated with her juices, and dragged a finger across his bottom lip. His breath caught, a flush rising to his face.

 

Her feminine pride swelled as she recognized that flare of desire darkening his gaze.

 

“You wanted to _dance_ ,” she said softly, smiling up at him. She took one of the limp hands by his side, and dragged it up her side and settled it on her ass. “So let’s dance.”

 

.

.

.

 

 

When she touched herself and approached him like a jezebel it was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. He’d never been with a woman so confident with herself, with her sensuality, and taking what she wanted. He was used to being wanted — it wasn’t a surprise and he knew how women responded to him — but this was the first time anyone dared to _defy_ him.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, his hands had gripped her sides and he launched her to the bed. She shrieked with laughter as she fell back against the cushions, her limbs akimbo. He followed suit, pinning her with his weight.

 

Her eyes sparked with excitement as her hands roamed over his shirt, making quick work of his buttons, but it was still too slow, so after she managed to loosen three buttons, he pulled the shirt off his back with one smooth movement.

 

She worried her lip as she regarded his sculpted torso with blatant appreciation. She leaned up, clearly wanting to kiss him, but she’d been _bad_ , she didn’t deserve a treat. So he turned away and lathered her neck with attention instead. She tasted a little salty, a little… sweet even.

 

She smelled like strawberries, an unexpectedly innocent scent. This woman was a mass of contradictions!

 

His hands roamed over her legs and then over her torso, right between the cleft of the deep-V of her dress.

 

He was a little bit surprised to find she was wearing a specialty bra, the kind that worked with these types of dresses, and double-sided tape. It must have shown in his expression because she giggled.

 

“They’re real, but no one can fight the force of gravity except with industrial strength tape and lingerie,” she said with a husky laugh, her hands crawling up and over her breasts. She had no qualms about touching herself for him… or was it for her? Either way, it was messing with his mind a bit.

  
She was wild.

 

Wilder than anyone he’d ever been with.

 

“You know it opens from the front,” she went on, her fingers dipping into her dress. He stilled her hand.

 

“No,” he said.

 

She blinked up at him. “Huh?”

 

“Keep the dress and bra on. Heels, too. But take off your panties,” he said calmly.

 

Her eyes widened, her pupils growing larger as she wet her lips.

 

“Uh…. O-okay.”

 

He swallowed a smile. She thought that was hot…

 

“I’m going to take your panties home,” he said and she jerked a little as she pulled the lace concoction down. His finger followed her movement down the length of her limb.

 

“As a souvenir?” she asked breathlessly.

 

“As _payment_.”

 

Her brows shot to her hairline and she laughed, a throaty sound. He found he didn’t mind it at all. In fact, he begrudgingly admitted that he didn’t mind _her_ at all.

 

“Oh really? Confident, are we? What if I want a refund?” she returned, her hand going down her bare thighs. She writhed beneath him, panting.

 

“No return policy,” he said as he undid the buttons of his pants. Her breath hitched at his action, and without warning, she surged forward and sat up, her hands stilling his.

 

“I like undressing a man,” she said, as her hand went to his zipper, and pulled it down slowly. He inhaled through his nose and struggled to keep his expression calm as her hand dipped into his trousers, her fingers skimming over his hardening length.

 

“Well, _hello_ ,” she said. She had no sense of shame whatsoever. It was… oddly refreshing. A lot of women tried to play like they didn’t want to have sex out of some misguided sense of modesty. Vegeta was a straightforward person and it was nice to be with someone who didn’t try to play coy.

 

“Stop,” he said, stilling her curious hands as blood rushed to his center. This was getting a little out of control, he thought with mild confusion. _He_ was the one supposed to be touching her, so she was mindless for _him_.

 

“Why? You like it,” she said, almost daring him to deny it.

 

“I don’t like to rush things,” he said and pushed her lightly away, so she flopped back down onto the bed with a whoosh. She giggled as he kicked off the rest of his pants, so he was only in his boxer briefs.

 

“You’re no fun,” she pouted, pursing her lips.

 

“I’m plenty fun,” he said as he loomed over her, his hand lifting the skirt of her dress so that she was bare to him. His fingers founder her center. She moaned and arched into his hand. “See? Fun.”

 

“Yeah, laugh a minute,” she gasped, her fingers rising to her mouth.

 

God, she didn’t hold anything back, he thought with amusement and a little excitement. She wasn’t even pretending or trying to hide her enjoyment and frankly, it made him hard. There was something about her unfiltered joy after so many reserved women…

 

“Kiss me,” she demanded suddenly.

 

His eyes dropped to her mouth, so plump and lovely. It would look even more lovely around his cock.

 

“Are you going to behave?”

 

He increased the pressure of his fingers in and out, flicking over her bud and back in, deeper and deeper.

 

“No,” she moaned her knees shaking as she arched up. She rubbed her heels against his side, and he kissed the inside of her knee at her movement.

 

“Then no,” he said, removing his hand from her tight pussy so he could release himself from his boxers. His hand was sticky with her, giving him the perfect opportunity to coat and ready himself.

 

She whined behind her throat, pouting again, reaching out for him. He loomed over her and wiped himself against her opening, and her slit. She panted and moaned, clutching at the sheets.

 _  
Dirty girl,_ he thought, feeling himself harden further in his hand. Focus, Vegeta, he told himself, blinking rapidly, trying not to simply impale himself in her warmth.

 

He wanted her surrender.

 

She grasped at him, trying to pull his head down defiantly toward her. She was surprisingly strong, but he was stronger. He pinned her wrists down and nipped the side of her neck. She yelped and shuddered.

 

“Are you going to behave?”  


 

“No, no, no,” she chanted, shaking her head, as she licked her lips and arched, trying to remove the space between them. If that’s what she wanted—

 

He flipped her to her stomach and she gasped when he positioned himself behind her.

 

“Then you don’t even get to look at me,” he said against her ear, pressing at her entrance. She shuddered.

 

“Oh, god, Vegeta, please,” she exclaimed, trying to wiggle down onto his cock.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“P-please, I—”

 

“Say it.”

 

“Fuck me!” she shrieked.

 

Her dress was all the way up her chest now, her heels scraping against his skin as she tried to remove all space between them. Even when she was underneath him, she was trying to fight for dominance. She wanted to be in control.

 

“Then behave,” he said as he pressed himself a little inside. She began to sweat, clearly fighting with his soft demand.

 

“Ungh, Vegeta, p-please,” she was begging him, her voice a high whine and it sounded beautiful. She was beautiful, this crazy, wild woman with no inhibitions.

 

“Are you going to be good for me?” he murmured, still holding himself back. He kneaded her breast with his free palm while the other rocked his length at her entrance, teasing. She was coating him, quivering at his ministrations, and it took all of his willpower to keep himself in check.

 

He wanted nothing but to bury himself inside her but he needed his victory.

 

It was all he was able to win.

 

“I-I’ll…. I’ll be good,” she stammered. “I’m good. Please fuck me.”

 

Pleasure rushed through him at her declaration and he decided he didn’t need to deny themselves any longer. He pushed inside her and it felt like she was swallowing him whole. He actually had to stop and grasp her hip to regain a sense of balance. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear it.

 

It was really hard to focus when she was letting out the most erotic sounds. Behind her, he felt fully sheathed in her warmth. It was incredibly intoxicating.

 

 _Focus,_ he shouted internally.

 

He began to move and she lifted herself a bit on her haunches to meet him. Incoherent words, escaped her mouth as Vegeta found himself getting lost in the sensation of being inside this wild woman, the scent of her sex coating him thoroughly.

 

He bent forward and adjusted himself as he thrust into her so he could also snake his hand between her thighs. Her hand flew over his as he worked her bud and bumped behind her. He could see the sheen of sweat forming over her face, pleasure telegraphed in every angle of her face.

 

He started to pull at her dress. He wanted her completely bare to him now. He reluctantly pulled out and she let out a disappointed sound.

 

“On your back. Take off your dress and the bra,” he said as he breathed heavily.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said, sticking her tongue out, but did as he asked. He raked his gaze over her naked form, now only with her heels on. She looked thoroughly debauched.

 

Thoroughly fucked.

 

It was then he realized he hadn’t wrapped up and bit back a curse.

 

“Tell me you’re on the pill, IUD, something,” he said abruptly. How the hell had he been so out of his mind that he actually _forgot_ to put on a condom?! This woman was a bad influence.

 

She looked down at herself and laughed lightly. “IUD. Whoops, I guess. I’m clean. You’re clean, right?”

 

He went for a check up monthly. “Yes.”

 

“Good. Now kiss me,” she said reaching out to him. He laid back on his side and pulled the infuriating woman toward him. She was so demanding.

 

“You promised. I’m being good,” she said and fluttered her lashes at him in a comical manner. He bit back a grin. Cheeky woman.

 

She also talked too much.

 

He decided that was why he finally leaned over and pressed his lips against hers.

 

He hadn’t expected much from a kiss that he hadn’t already felt by being _inside_ her, but the moment her mouth was on him, her tongue darting almost shyly to taste him, he found his mind going blank. She tasted a little like that lychee drink from the club and strawberries… there was something about strawberries with this woman!

 

He was expecting her to consume his mouth, face, lips, with the way she’d been acting earlier, and certainly from the way she liked to be fucked, but she was taking her time with her lips. And it felt… well, it felt nice, actually.

 

She clearly enjoyed kissing and Vegeta found he enjoyed kissing _her…_

 

She pulled back slightly and smiled at him as she cradled his face in her hands. He couldn’t really read her expression. She looked a little bemused, like she was trying to figure him out.

 

He was going to have none of that, so he crushed his mouth against hers to blot out whatever was going through her loopy mind. Though, as she returned his kiss with equal fervor, maybe he just wanted to kiss her like that so he could blot out his own mind.

 

It was working.

 

And the vulgar woman was now moving her hand between them, grasping his cock while they continued battling tongues. She didn’t break their embrace as she rolled him gently onto his back and guided him back into her entrance.

 

“My turn on top,” she said, winking at him.

 

He grasped her hips as she lowered on top of him. She licked her lips and grinned down at him, clearly pleased. He bucked up to knock that smug look off her face, but all it did was give them both a heady jolt of pleasure.

 

So he continued to do it, bouncing her on top of him, and he watched as her breasts moved in a hypnotizing rhythm.

 

She really was an exceptional looking woman, he thought faintly, watching her arch and bob over him in unadulterated abandon. The way she moved her hands over herself as she rocked her hips against his was so incredibly sexy, like watching his own personal pornography while also being a participant.

 

He felt the base of his cock pulse as she tightened over him.

 

Abruptly, she threw her head back and gasped her release, convulsing over him uncontrollably. She was clenching over him so tightly, he felt the air leave his lungs and he actually felt like passing out for a split second, before sanity prevailed.

 

She was still in a state of open-mouthed shock when he flipped them over so he was back on top, and he thrust into her urgently, close to his own release. It didn’t take long for heat to suffuse him completely, and he pulled out at the last minute to spill himself against her belly, crying out in surprise at the intensity of his orgasm.

 

She giggled and rose up to kiss his slack mouth lightly. He felt strangely disoriented and he let her nuzzle against him — he normally didn’t let any woman do that. It made him feel claustrophobic and uncomfortable. But he had to take some time to gather himself, to get his heart back into a normal rhythm. She was kissing his neck now, murmuring about how great the sex was, but he could barely hear her as he tried to get a sense of what just happened.

 

He touched his sweaty forehead and looked at the absolutely _mess_ they made of the hotel bed. What the hell…? How’d he let things get so out of control?

 

“God, I don’t think I’ve come that hard in a long time,” she murmured, groaning and dabbed at herself, the evidence of his pleasure on her skin. She gently nipped at his shoulder. “Wanna shower together?”

 

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I need a moment. Go ahead.”

 

She chuckled and kissed the crook of his neck. “That good, huh?”

 

She pinched the side of his butt before she cheerfully bounded out of the bed. She was joy personified, apparently.

 

He really _did_ need a moment to catch his breath. He actually had to fight the urge to join her in the shower.

 

But it was the perfect opportunity for the point of the evening.

 

His gaze focused on the clutch thrown on the floor. He tamped down the strange feeling of guilt as he reached over to look through her belongings.

 

She was nothing but a mark.

 

A great lay, he acknowledged, but still a mark.

 

Her cell phone was a Capsule Corporation brand one, and it looked new, almost like a prototype. He frowned as he looked for the SIM card opening. Eventually, he found the small pinhole. He grabbed his own phone and made quick work of switching the cards. He found his scanner app and craned his head to see Bulma humming and the outline of her lathering herself up.

 

He only needed a minute to get what he needed from the phone, then he would finish the rest of the extraction on the laptop.

 

“Hey Vegeta!” she called and he nearly jumped out of his skin. God, he was little _off_ this night. He normally wasn’t nervous about this.

 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to join me…? The shower is big enough for two!” she called out in a sing-song voice as the shower water mixed with her voice.

 

He looked down at the progress bar and noticed it was at 100%. He quickly switched the SIM cards back in their rightful places and tossed her clutch back on the ground.

 

Now the deed was done, he could relax…

 

“All right,” he called back.

 

Another successful night’s work.

 

.

.

.

 

 


End file.
